


Do What You Do

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Surrender 'Verse [11]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Face Slapping, M/M, Manhandling, Marking, Pain, Porn with Feelings, Rank Disparity, Roleplayed Noncon, Romance, Rough Sex, Schmoop, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: Alexander and his general share an intimate moment.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington
Series: Surrender 'Verse [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/796566
Comments: 14
Kudos: 113





	Do What You Do

The slap shouldn't catch him off guard. It's nothing they haven't done before—hell, it's among Hamilton's favorite pieces of violence at Washington's hand.

But he must be distracted, because it _does_ surprise him. The impact is absolutely delicious, sending a giddy shot of shame and pleasure all along his nerves. Washington's hands are so big, and the burning crack of that powerful palm across his cheek is enough to make Hamilton's eyes water. He deliberately grunts a soft, wounded sound and squeezes his eyes shut. But he can't help licking his lips, even if the gesture does broadcast his enjoyment.

"Look at me." Washington's voice is a thunderous rumble of authority—a command Hamilton could not disobey even if he wanted to.

He opens his eyes. Peers up at Washington with a blaze of affection and desire. Washington is so big on top of him, naked in a swathe of moonlight. The contours of muscled shoulders are at their most impressive like this, painted in stark shadow, and the strong line of his jaw is rough with the shadow of stubble he will shave away come morning.

That stubble drives Hamilton just as mad as the rough treatment, the hands and weight pinning him down. It has burned across his skin tonight with every nuzzle, every kiss, every vicious bite that he will remember by a collection of bruises come morning.

His heart races at the notion. Hamilton always cherishes Washington's bruises.

The silence stretches too long as he inadvertently falls into his own greedy thoughts. Ridiculous, to grow distracted by imaginings of Washington when his husband is right here in their bed—is _right this moment_ touching him, hurting him, pleasuring him—

—when any moment Washington will force his legs apart and fuck him into next week.

Hamilton snaps back to the present when the weight on top of him shifts ominously, a big hand encircling his throat. Washington won't squeeze hard enough to cut off his air, but the weight of the grip is as delightful as any threat—so long as Hamilton focuses on the physical sensation rather than the reality of what Washington will not do.

Washington will hurt him in countless ways, but will never risk truly breaking him.

If Hamilton nonetheless fantasizes about being broken, well. At least they can meet here in the middle and find satisfaction.

"Please don't hurt me." Hamilton puts a calculated tremble of fear into the plea. Fear is the farthest feeling from his heart at the moment, but his tone has the desired effect. Washington's eyes shadow and burn. They hold him so intensely that for a moment Hamilton cannot breathe, and it's all he can manage to remind his lungs that they have a job to do.

"Haven't I already hurt you?" Washington asks, and desire rumbles so low in the words that Hamilton can't prevent the answering tremble that shivers through his entire body. This Washington also appreciates, judging by the way his mouth presses thin—a sure sign of suppressing a smile in order to playact a more brutal countenance.

"You can still stop," Hamilton points out breathlessly. "You can let me go. I won't tell a soul what you've done."

"Why would I stop when I have yet to claim what I truly want?" Washington counters crisply. "You cannot be this naive, my boy. You knew the moment you came to me that I intended to violate you tonight. Why else would you have tried to run?"

Again Hamilton shivers. Warmth pulses through him—through certain parts of his anatomy in particular—at the reminder of his attempted rebellion. He knew he wouldn't get away, of course. He would never have tried to escape if he thought he might actually succeed.

"Sir, please—" he starts, one last attempt to beg reason back into his general.

He does not get to complete his entreaty. Before he even finishes voicing the word 'please', Washington is maneuvering on top of him. Washington's weight shifts as he moves just enough to grab hold of Hamilton's naked thighs and—with painful force—wrench them wide.

" _Stop_ ," Hamilton gasps, trying futilely to close his legs even as his general's bulk shoves into the space between them. The tip of Washington's cock is slick when it nudges at his entrance, but nowhere near slick enough. This is going to hurt. Hamilton knows he is going to bleed. There is no other possible outcome tonight, and he cannot wait for the hurt to take him.

He cannot wait for _Washington_ to take him.

The first forceful instant of penetration feels eerily distant, and then the agony is upon him. His scream nearly escapes him despite how thoroughly he was anticipating for this moment—but Washington must sense what he needs. Before Hamilton's voice can damn them both, a broad palm covers his nose and mouth, stopping his breath and muffling the sound of Hamilton's torment.

The pain is glorious. Washington is not gentle as he ruts forward, filling Hamilton by stuttering degrees. The assault drives deeper and deeper until there is no farther to go. The rigid length impaling him is too much, and Hamilton thrashes beneath Washington's weight. He can't breathe. He can't think. He never wants it to end.

The scream has died away by the time Washington removes his hand, but the agony remains. Hamilton's chest heaves with hitching sobs, as the cock inside him withdraws only to drive forward a second relentless time. The third thrust is smoother, if no less cruel. The fourth jolts Hamilton hard despite the soft mattress beneath him.

His instincts now are to simply ride the moment out and let Washington do all the work. His body hurts in all the ways he most adores—he will be a wreck tomorrow unable to sit at his work—and tonight's orgasm will be spectacular even if he puts no further effort into their activities.

But he knows his general will enjoy the buildup and precipice more if Hamilton puts up a fight, and so he jerks in Washington's arms. He twists and struggles and tries to push away the body on top of him. All to no effect, which only adds to the arousal mounting in his blood.

Washington expresses appreciation for his efforts by pounding into him all the more brutally. The rhythm between them is not sustainable. They cannot continue like this much longer, both so close to the edge, neither able to hold back. They spend almost in unison—Hamilton with his face buried against Washington's chest—Washington biting his shoulder to muffle a shout of unrestrained pleasure.

And in that moment, despite the overwhelming maelstrom of sensation, Hamilton can truly breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Slap, Kiss, Break


End file.
